


write these words on my skin

by echoesofstardust



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fans & Fandom, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Idiots in Love, Light D/s, Smut, Spanking, and a healthy mix of fluff and angst as usual, fic writer!Tessa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:40:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21511636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoesofstardust/pseuds/echoesofstardust
Summary: In which Tessa’s a fanfic writer and she’s got a favour to ask of her roommate, Scott.
Relationships: Scott Moir/Tessa Virtue
Comments: 77
Kudos: 256





	write these words on my skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rookandpawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rookandpawn/gifts).



> Dearest Rook,
> 
> My first thought upon finishing this was ‘oh god what have I done?’. My second thought was ‘oh god rook’s gonna disown me’. This is in honour of all the starred conversations on the gc that I wasn’t supposed to read...but did anyway. Sorry. 
> 
> Thank you so much for being who you: for your incredible writing, for being my inspiration and for all your support. Much love! <3 <3
> 
> To everyone else kind enough to read my writing,
> 
> I’ve gotta be honest and admit that writing this fic was very much an experiment and an exercise as someone who usually sidesteps smut in her writing. Please be kind, yeah? But of course please point out anything that’s wrong. I’ve tried my best to be careful with matters such as consent, protection, making sure both partners are clean before anything starts, safewords and aftercare, but of course, I likely have still made mistakes. I’m always open to learning from my mistakes so feel free to let me know.
> 
> Wishing you a wonderful day <3

Scott falls off her desk chair when she asks him.

“You want me to what?” He props himself up on his elbow, rubbing his shoulder. He’d been spinning on the chair like the dork he is and the momentum likely made him fall harder.

She’s sitting on her bed, legs folded in front of her in criss-cross applesauce. She bites her bottom lip. It had been hard enough to get the question out the first time.

“Scott,” she says again, slower, “I want your help with my fic-writing. Smut, specifically.”

“And you want this help, how…?” He swallows, his sentence trailing off.

She sighs. He’s really going to make her spell this out, isn’t he? “I want you to have sex with me, please.”

Having it explicitly stated makes his eyes widen and his body stiffen. She rolls her eyes. “Am I really that unattractive?” she says the words dryly, an attempt at sarcasm but underneath that are the insecurities she harbours about her body.

“No! Definitely not. You’re gorgeous,” the compliment is both earnest and absent-minded, like it’s the truth but not a revelation, just something that he’s always thought. “Just...why me?”

“Because I trust you.” The first thing she says is the most important. “Plus, in all the time we’ve been roommates, I’ve heard all those girls you take home, Moir,” she scrunches her nose, “weirdly, they don’t sound like they’re faking their orgasms so I think you know what you’re doing.” 

Scott looks horrified. “What?! You hear me when I—when I—” He looks up at the ceiling then back at her, repeating the motion several times frantically. “I’m so sorry. I thought our rooms are on opposite sides of the apartment.”

“Apparently our walls aren’t thick enough. Or that you’re really good with what you’ve got. I think I heard one of them scream, Scott. I didn’t think anyone actually screamed in bed,” she teases him. She pauses as she realises something. “Not that you’ve taken anyone home in a while…” The more she thinks about it, the more she realises that it hasn’t happened in several months. “Are you losing your touch?” she jokes, an attempt to cut through the weirdness that she’s started since propositioning him.

He turns a little quiet at that, which is unexpected, avoiding her gaze. She thought he’d protest, emphasise that he’s still got his game, thank you very much. But he says, instead, “I guess...there’s just no one new that’s caught my eye.”

“So...are you in?” Her nerves ratchet up a million notches. She wonders if she’s just ruined her friendship with her roommate. She probably should have thought this through more. Instead, she may have to spend the next few days trying to find a new place to live.

He looks at her like he’s seeing her for the first time. “I’m in, T.” 

He clears his throat, “If we’re talking logistics, I had my tests done at the doctor’s a couple of weeks back—” she knows, she was the one to remind him of the appointment “—and the results came back clean. What about you?”

“I’m clean too,” she answers, “And I’m on the pill, but I still want to use condoms?” 

“Of course. Better to be safe. I’m in, T.” He repeats, smiling, “So what am I actually in for?”

Now that she knows he’s down for her plan, all coherent thoughts fly out the window. She supposes she should have planned this far ahead. Except it hits her that she’s actually going to have sex with Scott, her _objectively_ attractive roommate, who may or may not have been the unintentional subject of several dreams. And perhaps fantasies when it’s late at night and she just needs that final push to get herself over the edge and—oh god, she’s signed up for more than what she can handle.

He gets up and walks over to her bed slowly. She looks up at him and if this is him with his charm turned on full, she gets why he’s gotten all those girls before. She’s about to melt in a puddle.

Except he smiles at her the way he always has and that sets her at ease. It’s just Scott. They can be friends and do this, right? There can only be benefits for both parties, therefore this is a completely logical decision.

He leans down close, pressing his closed hands into the mattress with his knuckles down. It’s not the first time he’s been this close. One of the first things she’d discovered about him was that he’s ridiculously tactile and gives hugs like they’re candy.

But it’s the first time he’s been this close with the promise of something more. Every breath she takes fills her lungs with how good he smells. It’s heady. She bites her bottom lip. What was his question again?

“Umm…” Oh, that’s right. What’s he in for. _He’ll be in you_ , her mind pipes up, ever-so-helpful, and she blushes a deep shade of red because she’s Tessa Virtue and she doesn’t think thoughts like that.

Scott’s still waiting for an answer and doesn’t seem to have any plan of moving anytime soon.

“I guess I just want to be able to describe sex better? I don’t know. When I try to write smut it’s hard to write about anything earth-shattering because the guys I’ve been with have been...not the best.” Scott looks horrified, so she rushes to continue, “It was all consensual, I swear! And they did try to y’know…” she winces.

“...they just didn’t succeed.” Scott finishes for her. “Not even Xa—” She shakes her head.

He clambers onto the bed beside her, sitting with his legs crossed as well. He taps her knees to get her to spin around to face him.

“Maybe it’s me?” she wonders, half to herself. “Maybe it’s not their fault, maybe I’m just a difficult one to crack,” she attempts to smile self-deprecatingly. “Anyway, for your help, I really just want to get a better handle on the finer details of sex. Like which angles actually work and feel better. Oh! And the mechanics of shifts in positions. That’s always confused me. You don’t even need to make me come,” she means the last statement as a joke but Scott’s already shaking his head vehemently.

“Virtch, no. No, no, no. If we’re doing this, I’m gonna make sure you have an earth-shattering time. You are _definitely_ getting your orgasms.” She knows his steel-like determination towards his goals and to hear him declare that same determination when it comes to making her come? She might actually faint.

“You talk a big game, Moir.” She swallows, deflecting by trying to joke.

“You can let me prove it to you,” his voice is low, all traces of humour gone.

“Now?”

“Yeah.” He reaches out to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, letting his fingers linger on her jaw. “Can I kiss you?"

She _knows_ that she has a better chance of not developing any messy feelings if she says no, but he’s right there with his lips plump and looking downright delectable, and his eyes darting between her eyes and her lips, clearly wanting and just waiting for her to say yes.

“Yes,” she breathes and he’s on her. She doesn’t know why she expected him to start off hard and fast but she did and he doesn’t. He starts off soft and teasing; these little, barely-there touches of his lips to hers, open-mouthed presses along her jaw and her neck and up to below her ear and back to her mouth again. She can’t help the frustrated noise at the back of her throat at how long it’s taking for him to warm up, but she feels his smirk against her lips when she makes that sound. It’s all it takes for him to shift gears into a kiss that’s deeper and dirtier.

She has to pull back after a while because, right, oxygen is a thing. She’s practically in his lap, his warm hands under her shirt and on the bare skin of her back. His pupils are blown, his lips kiss-swollen, his hair dishevelled. She's pressed up against his hardness and she can't help the way she grinds down a little. The fact that he's turned on because of her is intoxicating. 

"Te—ess," he groans, clutching her hip harder. "Tell me, what do you want?" 

What does she want? Him, she just wants him. "I want—your hands," she gasps, "and—and your mouth." His hands move up her waist. She keens as his thumb sweeps back and forth over her nipple over the cup of her bra. It's not enough. She tugs at the hem of her shirt and he gets the message, pulling it off of her and throwing it somewhere in her room. His hands are back on her, one of them wandering up her back to toy at the clasp of her bra. 

"Where do you want my hands?" She's not used to talking this much during foreplay, and she would've thought that she'd be too embarrassed to answer questions like that uninhibitedly but with Scott looking at her like this she finds that she really doesn't care. 

"On my—on my—," she doesn’t finish her sentence but moans instead as Scott tugs at a bra strap down with his teeth, his fingers nimbly unclasping her bra. He doesn't waste time putting his mouth on her, taking as much of her breast in his mouth, circling around her nipple with his tongue then giving it a good, hard suck. 

She cries at that, that action sending a bolt of heat straight to her core. She undulates her hips against him. One of his hand cups her other breast, teasing the sensitive skin on the underside of it, before tugging and pinching her nipple. She looks down at his hands, hands she's always found gorgeous and capable and strong, and to see them intent on bringing about her pleasurable destruction has her rolling her eyes to the back of her head. 

His mouth doesn't leave her other breast unattended, giving it the same attention that makes her sure she must be drenched. He shifts his weight forward and she lets herself fall back into the mattress, relishing the feel of his weight on top of her. She knows he works out, but getting to appreciate all that muscle definition with her hands (and hopefully her mouth later) is fucking glorious. She slides her hands up his chest, taking his shirt with her, and he helps her finish the job by sitting back to pull it off completely.

She whines at the loss of contact, but he’s slipping his thumb under the waistband of her shorts. He glances up at her and she answers the question before he asks. "Take them off, Scott, _please_."

He tugs them off, and she tries to help him but ends up nearly kicking him in the face. "Whoa, T," he laughs and she pouts. 

"Was just trying to help," she grumbles, losing track of her train of thought as he moves back up her body to kiss her again. Probably to get her to stop pouting. 

The smile he gives her when he pulls back makes her feel something she can't put a name on. 

He lets his gaze travels up and down her body, and it’s like she feels where his eyes go in little sparks all over her skin. He’s obviously appreciative, his eyes darkening. "You're so beautiful, T."

She blushes all the way down to her chest, but swats his shoulder. "You're already in my bed, Moir. You don't need to use your lines on me." She's giggling and she expects him to laugh along with her but he doesn't. 

She studies his face and he seems a little sad? Somehow? But it's gone in a blink, a smirk back at his lips and _fuck_ he's attractive like that. He props himself up on one hand near her head, the other making its way down between her legs. He reaches the part of her skin just under her ribs where he knows she’s ticklish and of course he doesn’t resist tickling her there. She laughs and squirms under him, admonishing him with a _Scott!_ but his name becomes a whimper when he tugs at her belly button piercing.

She lets her legs fall open once he reaches there, gripping his hair tighter as he cups her, stroking her firmly once, twice, thrice over the fabric of her panties.

“Fuck, Tess, you’re so wet.” 

She shivers at how wrecked he sounds. “For you,” she hears herself saying. He groans. 

Scott finds her mouth, kissing her deeply as he pulls her panties aside, dragging two fingers up her wetness, finding her clit. He makes maybe two tight circles, drawing broken moans from her, but he takes his hand away. Her eyes fly open, ready to complain about how long he’s taking, except she sees him stick his fingers in his mouth and taste her.

“You taste so good, Tess. Can’t wait to put my mouth on you.” He tugs her panties down her legs. She doesn’t see where he leaves them, probably lost somewhere in her sheets. He mouths down her chest, her stomach and he's almost where she needs him except he bypasses her centre, kissing and nipping her inner thighs instead. She raises herself on her elbows, another complaint ready but the sight of his dark head between her legs has her clenching around nothing. 

_Fuck_. They're actually gonna do this. 

"Scott," she whimpers, " _please._ " She bucks her hips up a little. 

"Where do you want my mouth, Tess?" His thumbs maddeningly trace circles on the skin of her inner thighs.

Scott likes to talk during sex is what she's discovering. She's discovering that she likes it too. 

"On—me." She bites back another groan of frustration as all he does is trace around her core with his tongue, kissing the top of her mound. 

"Here?" 

"No— _Scott._ You—ungh, you know where."

"You want my mouth on your pussy?" It's a filthy word that she's never used during sex, but the way Scott says it with that low voice of his has her on the verge of coming and he hasn't even really touched her yet. 

"Yes," she breathes. "Want your...want your mouth on my...on my pussy." 

Hearing her say that must have the same effect as hearing him say it to her, because he groans and she feels as much as hears the sound. 

"Gonna make you feel good, Tess. Gonna make you come."

And he finally, _finally,_ licks a long, hard line up her core. She arches her back, grinding into his mouth. All the times of watching him tear into bottle caps and pen lids that have always made her wonder if he's good with his mouth. 

As he traces circles around her clit with the tip of his tongue, pushing a finger into her as he sucks, she's learning that he's _fucking_ fantastic with it. 

He slips in another finger just as she's about to cry from something not feeling like it's enough. How does he know what she needs before she knows she wants it? 

"Tess," he looks up at her and she's sure she gets wetter at the sight of her wetness spread across his mouth, "can you—can you take another?" 

She whimpers. She doesn't know if she can. 

"Can you be good for me and take another?" His fingers drag down her upper wall, hitting a spot that makes her keen. 

"Yes," she almost sobs, "I wanna—wanna be good for you." She wants to please him, Scott, who's been nothing but good to her since the start. 

He pumps his fingers, adding a third and—oh god, it's a delicious stretch. But she likes it, oh she likes it. 

He moves up her body, pushing her knee out, opening her further to him. His fingers fuck her impossibly deeper, the heel of his hand against her clit. He bends down, latching onto her breast and sucking, and she shatters underneath him. His name on her lips, her fingers twisting in his hair, probably painfully, her legs trying to close around his hand. 

Oh. _Oh._ That’s what it feels like. That’s what she’s been missing out on. 

He runs his hand over and over on her leg, and the soothing contact helps her come down. She thinks they're done, feeling pretty satisfied and ready to fall asleep, but Scott has other plans because he settles between her legs again. 

"Scott—what...?" 

"One more, T."

She doesn't think she's going to capable of another but he slows down this time, knowing how sensitive her pussy is. He works her close to the edge again, fucking her with his tongue. She comes with a soft cry when he works his nose against her clit as he buries his tongue as deep as he can go. 

She has to catch her breath for several moments, an arm over her face. He may have wrecked her in the best way possible. She’d fully intended for this to be a temporary arrangement, a favour from a friend, but she’s beginning to get an inkling of how hard it’ll be to give this up. It’s only one time and she thinks she’s already addicted. 

She tries to sit up, catching sight of Scott grinning at her. "Good?" 

And that’s perhaps the scariest thing. That as good as the orgasms were, the most addicting thing is the way Scott’s smiling at her right now, proud and sweet and maybe a little cocky, the softness in his voice eclipsing all that.

"Meh, it was okay," she teases and he narrows his eyes at her, his hands automatically going for her ticklish spot. "Stop! Ah, Scott!" The nonchalant effect she was going for is probably lost because she's giggling and her smile is probably a little dazed. 

"You were so good, Scott," she answers honestly, pulling the sheets up around her naked body. She peeks up at him through her eyelashes. "Thank you."

"It was my pleasure." He's got a hand on her thigh that's keeping her hyperaware of his presence even with the bedsheet as a layer between them. 

“What about you?” Her eyes drop down to where he’s clearly still hard, his dick tenting his pajama pants but he shakes his head. She's a little disappointed. Does he not think she's capable of making him feel good? 

“Tonight was about you, Tess. And your earth-shattering orgasms." He winks at her and she rolls her eyes. She's not boosting his ego any more than she already has, never mind that he had rocked her world."But…” he turns shy, twisting her sheets in his hand, “...maybe next time? If you want?”

“Definitely a next time. I’ve still got a lot of research to do.” She yawns. Partly because she's sleepy and partly to hide her relief that it's not out of a lack of interest from him. “As long as you’re up for it.” She deliberately lets her eyes drop down to where he’s still _definitely up_ for it. He catches onto her pun and laughs. 

“I’m just gonna go to the bathroom.” She gets up from her bed, looking at how many pieces of her clothes there are and deciding on wearing just his shirt instead. Friends can totally wear each others’ clothes right?

She’s back from the bathroom and finds him still in her bedroom. Her clothes are folded somewhat neatly on her bed and Scott’s standing at her desk. She notices he’s looking at the photo of the two of them she has there, beside the one of her and her sister.

“Scott?”

He turns around. He’s still shirtless, since of course, she’s wearing his shirt, but she thinks she’s about to drool because Scott has abs for days. She shakes her head. She finds herself at a loss for what to say.

There isn’t a handbook for the situation she’s just gotten herself into. 

Scott walks over to her, pulls her into a hug the way he always does. “Good night, Tess.” She hugs him back just as tight. See, nothing has changed. Nothing at all.

She sits on her bed once he lets go of her, pushing the covers to the end. She settles in, pulling the covers on top of her. He sits on the edge, finding her hand. She laces their fingers together in the weird way she likes ever since that first and only time they watched a horror movie together and she had grabbed him because of a jump scare.

"What do you want for breakfast in the morning?" Her eyes are half-closed, but she hears the smile in his voice. "Maybe waffles?" he suggests, "I think we've still got some whipped cream and I know I've just bought that exact brand of maple syrup you like."

He's so good to her. "Please," she murmurs sleepily. "Night, Scott."

"Night, T." He leaves her with a kiss on her cheekbone and something whispered in her hair. 

-

The first time Scott had walked in on her writing a fic, they had barely been roommates for a week. She had slammed her laptop screen down so hard she thought she'd broken it. 

It took a lot of teasing questions and persistent nagging from him before she finally caved and confessed her secret. She had blushed and stammered, bracing herself for some comment that's meant to be nice but just comes out snide and patronising.

Except he had turned thoughtful, gently asking her if he could read something she’d written. She’d always found it hard to let the people she knew read her writing, but Scott’s been nothing but kind since they met. She picked the most recent thing she’d published. 

He'd taken her laptop from her, set it in his lap, and began to read. Her heart had pounded the entire time that he was reading. It was maybe the first time she'd discovered that Scott's an open book, every feeling he's feeling clearly written on his face. It was weird because it's almost like she could read her story along with him just based on the expression of his face. 

"Tessa," he had said, her full name still before the nicknames he's since come up with, "that was so—good." He had shaken his head, "No, good's not a good enough word, but I don't have your vocab. You can _write_ . Like _really_ write."

It stopped becoming a thing she needed to hide. If anything, Scott had taken it upon himself to be her biggest supporter. She had been shocked when he cheerfully told her that he had made an account on the site she posts on. He's almost always the first to leave a comment—except for that one time where someone had beaten him to it, and Scott had huffed exaggeratedly for days. She had rolled her eyes at him but secretly found it sweet. 

The sweetest thing was when she had walked in from uni after a late class she had to TA, and had just caught him on their sofa logging out of his account to leave another kudos. 

She had asked him to beta for one of her fics once, when she was too tired and knew that there were probably a million mistakes and he had frowned, asking her, "Bay-what?" 

She had to try so hard not to laugh and repeated the word. "Beta. Like, you just need to look over and edit my writing for me. Please? If you're not too busy?" 

He never ever quite remembered the right word, always using one of the other Greek letters. She had been so confused when he had asked her if she needed him to epsilon any of her fics. It took her several seconds to realise what he meant, giggling when it finally dawned on her. 

Scott's goodness is something that she always wants to return back to him. He is, quite simply, one of the best people she's ever known.

-

"Condoms?" She raises an eyebrow at him, holding the box. She was helping him unpack the groceries he'd bought because it was his turn to do them. Granted, they tended to go together no matter whose week it was, but she had been caught up in a meeting with her thesis supervisor. She looks at the number indicating how many there are in the box and she raises her other eyebrow. "Cocky much, Scott?" 

"Prepared." He corrects her. "And optimistic?" He waggles his eyebrows. She pinches his side and he yelps. "Obviously there's no pressure, T. It's up to you. I'm here to do your bidding. And only if it's something you want."

She bites her lip. "I'm sure I can try to say that it's not what I want, but I bought condoms this time last week." Scott chokes on a cough. She takes another look at the box. "Hey! I got your brand and size right."

"You know what condoms I use?" Scott's frozen halfway putting a pack of dried pasta in one of the upper cupboards.

She giggles. "Scott, you know what brand of tampons I use." He's honestly been such a saviour during some of her periods when she was too stressed to keep track of her cycles. The first time she’d been near tears realising that she hadn’t bought a new pack when she knew she was already running low, but she’d found several packs of her usual brand when she opened the bathroom cabinet. She realised it was Scott because it was his turn to do the groceries that week. "That’s pretty much the same as me knowing your condom preferences."

It doesn't take long for them to put the rest of the groceries away. It’s a rhythm both of them know by now. Tessa passing Scott all the items they normally store in the top cupboards; Scott passing Tessa all the stuff to be put in the fridge. Soon the only things left in the bags are the detergent to put away in the laundry and the boxes of toothpaste. She laughed when she saw the six boxes in the bag—they must’ve been on sale. She knows Scott panic-buys whenever something’s on sale.

The other thing that’s left is the box of condoms on the kitchen counter. Scott’s got his back to her and she can see the flex of his muscles even through the fabric of his t-shirt. A flare of heat sparks in her, and she has to squeeze her legs together. She’s always been peripherally aware of how attractive Scott is, but it’s never been as front-and-centre as it is now since they started their arrangement.

"Hey, Scott." He turns around and she bites her bottom lip. She likes the way his eyes dart down to her mouth. She touches the edge of the kitchen counter, her hand making its way to the box of condoms. “You wanna use this now?”

He swallows, his eyes darkening. “Right here?”

She nods, walking over to him. She loops her hands around his neck and this time, she’s the one that kisses him first. Unlike the way he had started off soft and slow the first time he kissed her, she doesn’t hesitate to give him all she’s got and she hums in satisfaction when Scott follows her lead and kisses her back just as hard.

She doesn’t realise he’d walked her backwards until her back hits the edge of the counter. Well, not exactly her back because Scott’s got his hand between her and the counter. Always trying to make sure that she doesn’t get hurt. The thought makes something ache in her chest.

All she wants to do get closer to him and he shifts his hand, hitching one of her legs around his waist. It’s still not enough, but he catches her weight easily when she wraps both her legs around him. He hitches her further up his body so her centre presses against his already-hard dick and she gasps into his mouth. Thank god she’s wearing a skirt today. It’s easy for him to push it around her hips as he sets her down on the counter.

He sweeps her hair off one shoulder, kissing and nipping and sucking at her neck. She has half a thought of stopping him from making obvious marks because she still has to go to work tomorrow but the thought of Scott’s marks on her skin makes her shudder in want so she tilts her head to give him better access. 

Concealer and scarves are a thing. She’ll deal with it in the morning.

He pulls her underwear down, and she has to lift her hips a little to help him get them off and she widens her legs the moment his hand makes its way back between them. His fucking talented fingers seem to remember everything she likes: the way she likes to be teased a little when he makes a ‘v’ with two of his fingers and drags them up and down her outer lips, the way she likes firm strokes mixed with tight circles to get her closer to the edge. 

“So wet for me, Tess. You feel so good,” he murmurs roughly in her ear and _fuck_ , she really likes it when he talks. “Wanna make you feel good, wanna make you come. Wanna feel you come around me.” She whimpers, digging her nails into his shoulders. 

When Scott slips in two fingers up to his second knuckle, his thumb firm on her clit, her first climax takes her by surprise. It’s sudden and sharp and happens a lot quicker than expected. She’s sure she doesn’t even make a sound; just mouths his name into his neck.

She can’t believe how easily he’d learned her body, like he’s studied her for lifetimes. She feels oddly vulnerable, seen.

He doesn’t let her recover for long either, moving his hands to her waist, under her shirt, pushing it up so that it sits above her breasts. He licks at her wetly through the lace of her bralette, and doesn’t even bother taking them off—just tugs it down with his teeth before continuing his assault on her nipple. She doesn’t know how to describe the sounds she’s making as he licks her, blowing on her skin to make it pebble, then grazing it with his teeth.

“Scott! _Oh—_ ” she whimpers as she buries her hand in his hair. She arches her back, wrapping a leg tighter around his back to get him closer. “Please, just—ah! Fuck me, please, I _need_ you.” She’s lost control of her mouth and she doesn’t think she’s ever been this desperate during sex but she’s never felt safer than in his arms. She doesn’t mind saying all these things that tell him how much she wants him, because she trusts he’ll take care of her. That they’ll take care of each other.

She blindly reaches for the button on his jeans, pulling the zipper down. He tries to help her but she bats his hands away. She needs him now. She shoves her hands into his pants, pushing them down along with his boxer-briefs, releasing his cock.

He’s beautiful, is her first thought, which is a weird way to describe a dick but he looks like he’s just the right length, a good girth. She hadn’t realised veins were her thing as her eyes trace a prominent one on his cock but she also realises she should have because she’s so fucking attracted to his hands and all the veins that criss-cross the back of them. He’s hard and straining and she’d like to listen to the groan he makes on repeat as she wraps a hand around him, stroking firmly upwards. She rubs her thumb over his head to test his reaction, and she’s rewarded by his hips stuttering forward, her name rasped into her neck.

Her second thought is that she needs him inside her. Right now.

She reaches for the box of condoms, letting go of him in order to open it. She plucks one out but nearly drops the box as Scott bites her earlobe, soothing it with his tongue. She tears the foil, discarding it somewhere. She’s hit by a sense of nervousness though as she’s about to roll it on him. Her hands are definitely shaking.

She’s no femme fatale, she knows that. She’s not one of those girls with cherry-red lipstick and a patented hair flick, the ones who know exactly how to bring a man to his knees.

“Tess,” Scott says her name in the gentlest of ways. He’s got one hand on her waist and the other planted on the counter. He leans in to kiss her softly—on her forehead, on her nose, each of her cheeks, her lips. “It’s just me.”

He gives her a smile, the one where if she lets herself think for too long, she starts to think that it’s one just for her.

He’s right. It’s just Scott. She doesn’t need to be anyone other than Tessa with him.

When she rolls the condom on, she fumbles slightly but she finds herself giggling at herself instead. She doubts Scott minds her lack of smoothness either judging by the way his breathing roughens, squeezing her hip and squeezing his eyes shut. 

“You ready?” he asks as he presses his length against her centre. She moans as he lets his dick drag along her entrance. Letting her know how much of him she’ll get to take.

“Mmmm—yeah. _Please_ , Scott.”

He lines himself up, pushing in slowly. It’s been a while for her so she’s at once grateful that he’s taking his time but also on edge because she kinda just wants him to take her. He’s got her as close to the edge of the counter as he can, his hand cupping her ass and tilting her forward. He pauses once he’s inside her, letting her get used to the feeling of him, his breathing rough in her ear. She likes that he’s on the edge of losing control, because of her, and that thought has her involuntarily clenching around him.

“Tess—oh, _fuck_.” 

He starts to move, slowly at first, but gaining speed as she gets louder, spreading her legs wider in an effort to get him closer. She’s never been this wanton but she really can’t find it in herself to care. He feels so good inside her, hard and hot, and she keens his name into the quiet air when he catches her clit as he thrusts.

She’s desperately close but she’s not sure what she needs, but he hooks an arm under one of her knees, lifts it up and to the side to open her up more and that subtle change in angle is everything.

He’s saying her name over and over again, and she loves how wrecked he sounds. She knows she sounds just as ruined. She lets one of her hands wander to her chest, pinching and rolling her nipple just the way she knows she likes, and the way Scott moans as he sees what she’s doing, coupled with the rough thrust that he gives her in exactly the right spot, becomes her undoing.

He fucks her as her walls flutter around him, drawing her orgasm out, and he shudders in her arms as he comes. She idly wonders what it’d be like to feel all of him, to feel him come inside her, and she thinks she has another small flash of an orgasm at the thought.

They’re both breathing heavily. All she wants to do is curl up on his chest and purr in contentment, and she’s close to making that sound as he runs his fingers through her hair. She’s got pretty much no strength in her so she’s grateful that Scott’s adjusting her bralette back over her, pulling her shirt down, letting her skirt cover her. He rights all his clothes too, then moves away to dispose of the condom and she wrinkles her nose at the thought of having a used condom in their kitchen trash can.

Scott kisses her nose, probably to get her to stop frowning and she lets him, chasing his mouth when he pulls away. He lets her catch him.

“So...how was that?” He looks up at her, a smile tugging at his lips. “Good enough to use as material for your fics?”

She still hasn’t quite found the brainpower to string words into coherent sentences together so she just nods. “Yeah,” she manages. _You’re so good to me,_ she thinks.

He laughs softly, “I try, T. You deserve the best I can give you.” Oh, she thought she’d said that in her head. 

His smile falters a bit, like there’s a thought that just dawned on him “Do you wish we’d waited to do this in a bed?” He’s tracing shapes on her skin. She thinks they might be letters but the lines are too quick for her to know what they say. “You deserve—” he swallows, his lips thinning out in a straight line like he’s trying to find the right words to say, “you deserve whatever you want. If it was romance with candles and rose petals and sheets with a high thread count.” She punches his shoulder weakly, still too sated and tired to give any real force. That thread count comment was a definite dig at her.

She feels as much as hears him laugh, the soft, low rumble enveloping her, his cheek pressed against her temple.

She muses about his question for a moment but shakes her head, closing her eyes as she leans her head against his chest. “No. This was perfect.”

She likes that the first time he fucked her is on their kitchen counter. And that like every other memory she has of their kitchen, it’s messy and it’s sweet and it’s shared with him.

–

They’re in line at their favourite coffee shop on one of those quiet Sundays.

She’s craving the apple danishes that they sell and it feels like a weekend where she can finally breathe. It had only taken her one time asking Scott to come with her for him to come, only one teasing, faux-grumbling comment about how she’s probably their most regular customer and is the only one keeping the business afloat. She knows that’s not true. The coffee shop is usually bustling and full—families with kids of all ages, students with their heads buried in textbooks or shoulders hunched over a laptop, elderly couples sharing coffees and fond smiles, a book club or two.

She also knows that Scott just dies for their feta cheese and sundried tomato muffins, so she knows his complaints aren’t _really_ complaints.

She’s ordering her usual (at least for this week) coffee, along with the apple danish that she’s been wanting all morning. She’s somewhat aware that the barista is making conversation and she’s nodding and making affirmative sounds, hoping she’s not being rude except it’s early morning and Scott’s got a hand on the small of her back that’s distracting her.

She briefly wonders why the barista was taking so long writing her name—it’s just five letters?—but soon she’s got the cup in her hands and closing her eyes in bliss as soon as the coffee hits her tongue. She’s holding the paper bag with the danish in her other hand, shifting from foot to foor while waiting for Scott’s hot chocolate and—she had called it, the feta cheese and sundried tomato muffin.

It’s not until they’re out on the street that Scott nudges her elbow with his. “Wow, T, you could have let him down easier.”

“Wh-what? Let who down easier?” She slows down her steps.

Scott’s full-on grinning, the kind that looks like sunrises and sunsets and sunshine. “The poor barista! He was hitting on you.”

“What? No.” She rolls her eyes, scoffing.

Scott takes the bottom of her cup and rotates it. There’s a string of numbers in black marker staring back at her. “Oh,” is all she manages to say.

Scott looks like he’s trying to stop laughing. “You’re cute, Virtch.” He bops her on the nose once with his finger. “Even if you’re a little oblivious.”

She can’t even remember what the barista looks like—and isn’t this a bit unethical? She screws up her nose.

“It’s not much of a loss.” She finishes her drink as quickly as she can, tossing the cup into a bin that they walk past.

“I thought he was pretty cute,” Scott teases her.

“Maybe, but can he do the thing you do with your tongue?” 

Scott chokes on a sip of hot chocolate. “TE-SSA!” He sounds so scandalised and usually she would be too, but she just finds it hilarious (and endearing, if she lets herself think about it too long) that for how filthy his mouth gets in the bedroom, he’s currently blushing tomato-red.

She can’t help but rise on her tip-toes to kiss him on the cheek. She adores him in all his dichotomies. “What? It’s the truth.” She winks at him, grabbing his hand. “Let’s go home.”

–

“Okay, so how do I flip a guy in bed?” She looks up to see Scott spray water all over one of the pillowcases on their sofa. “Ewww, Scott.”

“That’s your fault! You can’t just spring a question like that—jeez, T, give a guy a warning.” He’s still coughing, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, placing the half-empty glass on the coffee table.

She’s got a paper to be working on but she’s procrastinating by working on her current fic. Scott’s given her plenty of, um, inspiration and anytime her writing flows she’s going to take advantage of it. Still, she needs to iron out this part of the scene. She pokes Scott with her foot, “So?”

“Well, um—” he scratches the back of his neck, tugging at his collar. “I don’t really know—”

“You don’t like it when a girl does it?”

“No! The complete opposite. I think it’s hot as hell.” He splutters the words out like he can’t say it fast enough. “I just don’t know how to explain it theoretically.”

“Well, could we try a more hands-on approach?” Oh god, is she flirting? Is this the part where she’s meant to be fluttering her eyelashes and biting her bottom lip? Instead she’s just in her messy bun, the leg of one of her sweatpants hiked up to her knees, and with no make-up on she’s sure the bags under her eyes are prominent.

But this is the Tessa that she’s always been around Scott, unfiltered and a little messy but real, and there’s no real want in her heart to change who she is around him. She likes that they get the truth of each other.

“Yeah?” he smirks, the one that would speak of bad-boy kinds of dangerous thrills if she didn’t know that this is Scott who needs to warm milk on the stovetop (not the microwave) when he has trouble falling asleep. “My bed or yours?”

His, it ends up being. He sets her down gently on the mattress because the dork insisted on carrying her. He hovers over her once she’s stretched out beneath him. She touches his chest tentatively with one hand, the other twisting in his sheets.

“Tess,” he skims a hand softly down her arm, “you’re tense. Relax, it’s just us.”

She lets out the breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. “Sorry,” she smiles.

“Don’t be sorry,” he drops his face down, nuzzles his nose along hers, down her jaw to her neck.

She giggles as he runs his lips along her skin. “Scott, that tickles.” She can feel herself relaxing, the laughter he draws from her also drawing most of the tension from her body.

He grins at her triumphantly, like that was what he intended to do. Sometimes, she wonders how well he knows her. Whether it’s better than how she knows herself. Sometimes, she wonders how well she knows him. Wonders what parts of him she’d unwittingly picked up, the way flecks of glitter stay stubbornly stuck to your skin.

“So, Virtch, flipping guys in bed. I’m gonna assume you’re making out, gettin’ hot and heavy—”

She has to snort at his choice of words. Who even says that?

“Or, y’know, the main event,” he winks at her and she rolls her eyes. He immediately goes for that spot on her neck, just below her jaw, that they’ve both discovered is especially sensitive. There’s a whine that doesn’t escape her clenched teeth as he drags his lips, then his tongue, then his teeth across it.

His hands find hers, lacing their fingers together and pulling them up past her head. “Basically, what you need to look for, I think, is a moment of weakness. Which shouldn’t be hard because anyone will go weak if they’re with you.”

He’s such a flirt, she knows that, but she still can’t help the flutter in her chest.

He takes away his hands from hers, but she leaves her arms stretched above her head. He takes one of her legs and pulls it up around his waist, encouraging her to do the same with her other leg. “And then once you’ve got that moment, squeeze your legs around me then use your momentum to drive me over and down.” He squints one eye. “Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” she hums, “I think so.” A moment of weakness. She brings her hands down from above her head, cupping his jaw, moving it to the back of his neck, scratching at his hairline. She pulls him down to kiss him, arching her back.

She moves her lips from his mouth to his jaw, to where his neck meets his shoulder. She’s trying to remember where his sensitive spots are. Wait—she mouths down to his collarbone, sucking at his skin there, grazing her nails across his abs. His breathing stutters. A definite moan escapes his mouth. His hands dig into the mattress.

Bingo.

She squeezes her legs around his waist, tensing her core to flip them over. Scott lands on his back and she whoops in delight, dancing a little on top of him in victory. He laughs along with her, hands settling at her waist. 

“See? Just like that.” He’s grinning at her as he pats her thigh, and lets his hand wander further upwards. But he stops abruptly. “You’re ready to wow the next guy in your bed.” It feels like he meant it to sound like a joke but it comes out a lot quieter and more subdued.

She stops her little victory dance, shaking her head instead. “No. No other guys, thank you. Not after—” There’s still a little twinge of heartache when she thinks of her ex, but it feels more like a phantom and less like actual pain now.

He’s looking so—softly?—at her. “Tess, I know Xavier broke your heart, but I hope you don’t...shut out the possibility of falling in love again. You deserve to be happy.”

She gets his point but it’s still hard. It’s hard trying to unhear all the hurtful things he said about her being emotionally unavailable and not putting as much effort into the relationship as he was. Scott had heard most of it from their rom-com and ice-cream marathon after the break-up. She still remembers Scott’s livid anger when it had gotten really late and she’d confessed her ex’s accusations of her cheating on him with Scott.

She knows that the two of them had only met a handful of times, and that Xavier was never completely comfortable with her having a guy for a roommate. But the accusation that she could be unfaithful felt like a stab to the gut.

She sighs heavily, drawing random patterns on him. “It’s not really something I’m looking for right now. Besides, I’ve got you. What more do I need?”

He grins at her. “Awww, Virtch.”

“Shut up.” She flexes her fingers against his chest, one of her hands over his sternum. Over his heart. A realisation strikes her like a lightning bolt. “Scott—what you said before, you know that goes for you too? If you meet a girl, you know, that special someone that I _know_ you’re looking for because you’re a secret hopeless romantic like that—you just tell me, ‘T, I met someone special so I’m sorry I have to stop being your—’ she falters looking for the right word to describe what he’s doing for her.

“Your sex slave?” he supplies and she hits him with a pillow.

“But you know what I mean? I know you’re doing this for me as a favour and we haven’t specified how long this arrangement is meant to last but if—when you meet someone, you just tell me and we call it quits, okay? No hard feelings.” Her chest kind of feels like it’s burning.

“There’s no one else, T.” He reaches up between her brows, smoothing the skin where she knows she’s frowning. His hand lingers on her cheek.

“But there could be.” It comes out soft and small.

He doesn’t say anything for a while, doesn’t deny it, and she doesn’t know why she feels like she’s about to cry.

He says, eventually, “There isn’t.” 

And that’s true. There’s no one else in the picture (yet) and she’s wasting time thinking about this hypothetical girl that Scott’s going to fall in love with (who’ll fall in love with him just as much, because how could anyone not?) when she could be doing something a lot more enjoyable with him.

Except she feels drained and exhausted all of a sudden, the mention of her past heartbreak and contemplation of a future that feels too much like loss taking a lot out of her. Scott seems to sense her tiredness because all he offers her is a gentle squeeze at her hip, the softest of smiles and the words, “Do you want to lay down with me?”

Nothing sounds sweeter than cuddling with him right this moment.

“Why do you smell so good?” she sleepily asks into his T-shirt, part of which she’s balled up in her fist. His arms easily settle around her, a comforting weight that’s safe and warm.

If he answers, she doesn’t catch it. The last thing she hears is the echo of his soft laugh in her ear.

–

She doesn’t mean to say it.

She’d been in his lap on his bed (she doesn’t quite remember how she got there) and he’d been telling her stories about the kids he’s teaching at the local rink, especially the ones who liked to get themselves into trouble. He tells it like he’s frustrated but his fondness for the kids shines through in the way he talks, all crinkly-eyed and smiling.

“You love them, though,” she points out.

“Yeah, I do,” he admits, “but if Riley hides my skate guards one more time, I swear to god I’ll—”

She laughs at the thought of Scott chasing a little boy down. He’s got too big a heart to stay angry at anyone, especially the little kids she knows he adores.

“Are you laughing at me, Miss Virtue?” a little of his coach persona slips through, a mock-stern expression on his face.

She stifles her giggles with the back of her hand. She rolls her eyes and plays along exaggeratedly, “No, sir, of course not.”

She’d meant it as a joke, honestly, except Scott’s grip on her tightens. He swallows heavily, looking down, all traces of humour gone from his face. She can’t miss the way his hips had jerked up into hers.

 _Oh._ He _likes_ that. The realisation thrills her—more than what she thought it would. It’s not a kink she’s thought of a lot, but has been curious about from time to time.

And with Scott—god, she finds it hard to believe that anything with him could be less than spectacular. If this is what he likes, she’s down. She trusts him to take care of her, to not hurt her—at least not in a way that wouldn’t eventually lead to her pleasure.

“Scott?” She rolls her hips against him. He digs his fingers into her hips, stopping her. The wordless command already has her swooning a little. 

He looks up at her guiltily, a touch embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” he blurts. A flush of red floods his cheeks. “I’m sorry, T. Can we just move past this—”

“Scott.” She rests her hands on the back of his neck, her thumbs rubbing back and forth. “Talk to me,” she whispers, “You...you liked it when I called you ‘sir’?”

He groans again. He nods. “Yeah,” he says, deep and gravelly, “I liked it.” This admission makes her want to whimper, desire flooding between her legs. He tacks on, blurting the words, “But I’ve never—I’ve never tried it, any sort of power play or dom/sub stuff, with anyone. It’s always just been a...hypothetical.”

“Would you—would you want to? With...me?”

His mouth makes some garbled sound. He doesn’t give her an answer for a while and she can see the internal debate in his eyes. But she knows the answer she wants him to give. She licks her lips and she sees Scott’s eyes drop to watch her mouth.

“Do _you_ want to?” he asks, eyes meeting hers again.

“Yes,” she breathes. “I want to.”

His groan rumbles through her and _fuck_ , she thrills at the thought of being desired like this by him.

“Tess,” he caresses her hip, “I’m scared I’ll do the wrong thing. Or that I’ll hurt you.”

“That’s what safewords are for,” she reminds him smartly, hiding a grin because this is Scott and of course he wants his partners in bed to be taken care of. She leans forward to pepper kisses along his jaw, then pulls back. “I trust you, Scott. You won’t hurt me, I believe that.” She gives him a tongue-touched smile, “At least, no more than I want it to.”

“ _Fuck_ , Tess,” he buries his head in the crook of her neck and she giggles. “You’re amazing,” he murmurs into her skin. She shivers at both the feeling and the words. He moves his hands to her ass, palming and squeezing.

“So, are you in?”

He lifts his head up and meets her eyes. “What’s your safeword gonna be?” 

He’s definitely in.

She has to pause for a while to think. She’s always found it hard to come up with answers to questions on the spot, her mind usually blanking. Now is no exception. She muses that if she had to pick something that literally makes her feel safe it’d be him, it’d be Scott, but she can’t use his name because she intends to say it over and over and _over_ again.

She tilts her head up, her fingers tapping at her collarbone in thought. She gazes up at the ceiling where he’s got these glow-in-the-dark stars. She smiles fondly at the memory of stumbling upon him about a month ago sticking them up, when he’d nearly fallen off the step-ladder he was using when she’d poked her head in and asked him what he was doing.

She remembers Scott being _very_ particular about where they needed to go. Apparently, the stars needed to be stuck in a very specific way, and she assumed that those were probably constellations, even if Scott didn’t strike her as an astronomy nerd. Maybe it’s a side of him she just hasn’t discovered or been privy to yet. When she’d asked him why he’d put up the stars, he’d just shrugged and said, “They remind me of home.”

It made sense. He’d told her of his childhood growing up in a small town. She assumes that the night skies there must be breathtakingly clear, the stars incredibly bright. Whenever she sees glow-in-the-dark stars, she thinks of his bedroom ceiling. She thinks of him.

“Stars?” she wonders aloud, looking up at the ceiling then looking back down at him. “Does that work?”

“Sure, T.” There’s something in his expression that looks wistful, but it flits away quickly. “The moment you feel even a little bit uncomfortable you give me your safeword, okay? No questions asked. We stop what we’re doing immediately.” He looks so worried and concerned for her wellbeing and she adores him for it.

“Then we have a conversation,” she adds, “about whether to stop completely or whether there’s just something that needs to change before we continue.” She places a hand on either side of his face. “I trust you, Scott. I say ‘stars’,” she’s careful to enunciate the word, “and we pause.”

“Also,” she traces the skin above the collar of his shirt, “bet you can make me see them,” she jokes. He laughs because there isn’t a joke of hers, no matter how bad they are, that he won’t laugh at.

“So...we’re doing this?” She can’t hide the anticipation in her voice and the way she bites her bottom lip.

He runs his hands from her hips to her waist to her ribs and back down again, the gesture slow but firm and deliberate. “Yeah.” There’s some sort of dark, golden fire in the browns of his eyes. “Strip for me, Tess.”

His command, quiet but deliberate, sends goosebumps all over her skin, an ache between her thighs. She plays with the hem of her shirt, raising it slowly, not letting her gaze waver from his. Her confidence grows with the way he looks at her. Lets him see every inch of her skin as she raises the fabric, the fact that she’s not wearing a bra. She undoes her hair from her haphazardly-done bun once her shirt’s off, taking the elastic out and tossing her head back to let the waves free. 

She gets up off his lap and on her knees, taking her shorts off first, nearly losing her balance on her knees as she’s lifting one leg then the other but managing just to stop herself from falling over. She suspects Scott’s just managing not to laugh at her trying to shimmy her shorts down her legs (she probably should’ve just gotten off the bed) but when she looks at him there’s no trace of amusement. Just white-hot desire that scorches every exposed part of her.

She toys with her underwear, slipping her fingers under the elastic but making no move to take them off. 

“Tessa.” The way he says her name is predatory, all sinuous stealth and coiled-up power, but does she still count as the prey if she wants to get caught?

“Yes?” She slides her fingers more decisively under the elastic, starting to pull it down past her hip.

“Take it off.” It’s not a request.

“Yes, sir.” It’s a murmur that becomes a moan as she drags her panties down her legs, and she doesn’t let her gaze waver from Scott’s. It stokes whatever fire’s in her that Scott doesn’t look away from her eyes even when she’s fully naked, as if seeing her, truly seeing her, supersedes every other superficial part of her.

“C’mere,” he beckons, and it’s not that she’s helpless to resist because anything she’s shared so far with Scott and everything she wants to keep on sharing with him (beds and kitchen counters and walls and showers) is ultimately a choice. Hers, and his. She comes to him because resisting him is something she doesn’t want to do.

She straddles his lap (she’s not thinking about how easily she’s learnt to fit against him, she’s not), and he tangles his hands in her hair, his hold close to her head, tugging her head firmly back. She moans at that. He finds her lips and kisses her, easily seeking entrance, getting her to open up with his tongue. She wants to bury a hand in his hair and the other tracing all the glorious planes of his body like she always does, but she doesn’t know if she’s meant to touch him. Instinctively, she laces her hands together behind her back.

He glides his palms down from her shoulders to her wrists to her intertwined hands. “Such a good girl for me,” he murmurs against her lips, and she keens into his mouth. She loves it when he praises her like that. It’s never condescending or patronising—just makes her feel good that she can make him feel good. He tilts her head with the grip he has on her hair, working the skin of her neck, down her chest until he’s laving her breasts with his tongue. She clenches her teeth, trying to be quiet, even if it’s fucking hard with how well Scott plays her body like she’s a melody and he’s a piano.

“Let me hear you, Tess,” he rasps in her ear, licking the sensitive skin just below it, biting on her earlobe. “Wanna hear your sounds. Wanna hear how good I can make you feel.” She opens her mouth on a broken, bitten cry at his invitation. 

He pulls back from her after a while, causing her to whimper at the keen feeling of loss, feeling stretched out and wrung from how he’s been teasing her. “On your hands and knees, Tess.” He gives her another deep, filthy kiss before releasing her.

“Yes, sir.” His eyes darken, promises glimmering in their depths. She’ll happily call him that again and again and again.

She climbs off his lap, not as gracefully as what she would’ve liked, and settles on her hands and knees facing away from him. She breathes out slowly, waiting.

The bed creaks as he shifts his weight, kneeling behind her. She hears the rustle of fabric, the drop of something soft. God, she hopes he’s taken off his shirt. She feels his large, warm hand on the small of her back, travelling upwards. He increases the pressure as he moves his hand to the top of her spine and she relaxes, following his direction. She moans as her nipples brush against the fabric of his sheets. She squeezes her legs together.

It would be so easy to touch herself, relieve this pressure that’s building, chase that high that she knows she can catch. 

She wonders what Scott would do if she does. If he’d punish her. What that punishment would look like. What it’d _feel_ like.

She wants to find out.

She looks over her shoulder to find him gazing at her, hunger for her clearly written across his face. She thrills at that. She adores it. It mirrors exactly what she feels about him.

Locking eyes with him, she spreads her legs wide, reaches down with her hand and deliberately strokes her clit once.

He wraps his hand around her wrist, stopping her. “Tessa.” She thinks she’s just gotten a lot wetter from how he says her name, low and dark and dripping with sex. “Did I say you could touch yourself?” 

“No, sir.” She sighs as he starts rubbing her ass with his other hand, the flat of his palm first, then letting his nails graze across her skin.

“That’s right, baby. What will happen when you do something I don’t tell you to do?”

“I get punished?” She lets her voice rise up at the end of the sentence like it’s a question. But she already knows the answer. And she’s keyed up from the anticipation because she _knows_ Scott’s gonna make it worth her while.

“That’s right.” He moves his palm in more deliberate circles on her ass. “How do you feel about being spanked, Tess?” He pauses and she knows it’s a chance for her to opt out, for her to stop what they’re doing if she feels like this is going too far.

But _fuck_ , she wants it, she wants the sting on her ass, his handprint on her skin.

“Please, sir,” she moans, “I deserve to be punished. I’ve been—I’ve been a bad girl.” There’s a distant part of her that wonders if what she’s saying is ridiculous or too porn-y but Scott’s grunt and the first slap of his hand on her ass cheek drive those thoughts away.

It doesn’t take her long to realise that Scott knows what he’s doing. That he knows how and where to vary his strikes, able to gauge how hard each spank should be to balance her on the fine line between pleasure and pain. He’s a little hesitant at the start, which she understands since this is the first time for both of them.

(She likes that, she’ll admit to herself later, that there’s a first she shares with him. That whoever comes after her that gets Scott like this, well, Tessa was lucky enough to be there first.)

But he _knows_ what he’s doing. It shouldn’t surprise her—Scott’s a compulsive googler. To him, literally any problem in life can be solved with a bit of research. Well, he’s obviously done the research for this. There’s a part of her that wonders if he could’ve been thinking of her specifically, thinking of her like this, willingly pliant and submissive to him, but she shuts down that thought process. It doesn’t matter anyway, when he’s her current, if temporary, reality.

He massages her ass after, murmurs sweet nothings into the divots of her spine as he kisses a languid line down. She whimpers at every brush of his lips, still aching in her core, wanting almost nothing more than him buried in her.

“So good for me, T.” He kisses her just below her ear. “Thank you.” She understands that his gratitude moves beyond the physical act of him spanking her, that he’s grateful for her allowing him to explore this desire of his, of being accepting and not judging.

He’s positioned himself over her, reaching between her legs to find her entrance sopping wet. “You’re ready for me, Tess?”

She nods into the pillow, whispering a ‘Yes’. He kisses her once more, at the top of her spine, before reaching over into his bedside table.

“Wait!” she grabs his wrist. Her breath hitches wondering if she’s overstepped, but Scott doesn’t reprimand her. There’s something else she wants to do.

“Sco—sir,” she corrects, lifting herself up slowly. “Can I taste you? Please?”

“Tessa, you don’t have to,” he cups her face gently, any remaining traces of his alpha-male persona fading away.

“Please.” She slips her fingers under the elastic of his sweatpants, her mouth trailing open-mouthed kisses down his chest. “I want to.” She palms him through his sweatpants, loving how hard he is, how he throbs for her, how his hips jerk into her hand.

“Tess—ungh, okay,” he breathes out slowly, trying to regain control of himself.

She smiles widely, sliding both hands under his sweatpants and his boxer-briefs and pushing them firmly down. Scott shucks it off the rest of the way. Until it’s just him, and _fuck_ she needs her mouth on him right now.

She captures the tip of him with her lips, lets her tongue explore the underside of his head, moaning at how he tastes. She wraps a hand around the base of him, squeezing, then moving her mouth from his head to lick his length all over. He groans her name, a hand in her hair, and she takes him in her mouth again, slowly, as much as she can.

She peeks up at him through her lashes as she lets him slide out part of the way, before taking him in again, her tongue firm against him.

“Tess—please,” he rasps, “I’m close.”

She takes that as her cue to keep on going, but he stops her. “No, I want you to come first.” 

She releases him from her mouth, wet and shiny. “How do you want me?” she asks, her voice husky.

“How do _you_ want me?” he replies. She gives it a thought before resuming her earlier position, on her knees, body bowed forward with her hands outstretched on the bed above her head.

“Deep. And hard, please, Scott.”

“I’ve got you, T.” He reaches into his bedside table for a condom, rolling it on quickly, and soon he’s teasing at her entrance. He slides into her slowly, angling her hips up so he can thrust as deep as he can, fulfilling her request.

She loves how he listens.

She’s been keyed up the entire time so she knows it wouldn’t take long for him to unravel her. He’s got a steady whisper of words in her ear that she’s sure are both filthy and sweet except she doesn’t hear exactly what he’s saying. She’s too far gone into the feeling of him surrounding her, deep within her. He takes one of her hands and brings it to where they’re joined.

“Touch yourself for me.” She doesn’t waste any time drawing circles on her sensitive nub. She’s so _fucking_ close—

“Look at me,” Scott asks, and she turns her head as much as she could to meet his eyes, colours colliding, and that’s all it takes.

“Scott!” she sobs as she comes around him, clenching hard.

“Tessa,” he grunts, similarly finding his release, pressing hard on her abdomen and burying his face in her shoulder.

He cradles her after, once both of them have caught their breaths somewhat. She curls up against his chest, listening for his heartbeat. He strokes her back gently, helping ground her.

“Thanks, Tess,” his words are whispered against her temple. “Thank you for—letting me explore that. With you.”

“It wasn’t much of a hardship,” she chuckles at the accidental pun, glancing up at him shyly, “I liked it. A lot. At least I know what to write for my next fic now. And,” she smirks, boldly walking her fingers up his chest, “I was wondering if we could swap? Next time?”

“Fuck, T.” He groans into her hair. “Of course we can. That’d be—” She watches his eyes glaze over with possibilities and she sighs happily. She’d have to do her own research, of course, but this is something she and Scott can learn together.

“Thank you,” he whispers again. “Is there anything else you need? Do you need me to grab you a washcloth or run you a bath or—”

She shakes her head. “Just hold me, please.”

She has to leave his embrace to go to the bathroom, but she returns to his bedroom once she’s done. “You sleeping here tonight?” He asks. It’s a question but at this point she wonders whether it should be.

“Oh! I just need to grab my phone for my alarm.” She’s about to get off the bed again when Scott wraps an arm around her waist.

“One at 6:15, one at 6:30 and one at 6:45, yeah? I’ve got it on my phone.” He finds and waves the device at her.

She feels something funny in her chest. “Oh! Okay, thank you.”

“My 4:45 one is gonna bother you, but you already know that, right?” She does. She’s learnt that it doesn’t take that long to fall back asleep in a bed and sheets and pillows that smell exactly like him.

–

Scott finds her sobbing into a decorative throw pillow at 2 pm in the afternoon.

“T?” He looks alarmed. Then he peers over at what she’s reading on her screen. “Ahh,” he comments with the air of a scientist who’s just made a fascinating discovery. He leans over the back of the couch to pat her back. “You’re reading one of the discontinued fics again.”

“I can’t help it,” she hiccups, “it’s too good. And painful. And hurts my heart.” She hugs the pillow closer to her chest.

She can tell Scott’s about to laugh and she blindly reaches behind her to punch his shoulder. “You can’t talk.” She’d been the one to hand him a tissue box when he’d read this particular one the first time.

“I know.” He vaults over the back of the sofa and she has a split-second vision of an alternate universe where their couch tipped backward. “Why do you keep on doing this to yourself?” A fond smile plays on his lips as he drapes an arm around her. 

She just shrugs in reply. No matter how many times you read the same story, you read again in the hope that something will change. Maybe this time, you think, there's gonna be a happy ending. 

"I hope they're happy."

"Who, the characters?" 

"Well, yeah," she says wistfully, playing the beading on the throw pillow. "That beyond what's already written there's an ending where they're happy." She glances down at the screen. "And the authors too, I guess? I hope wherever they are in life, they're happy too." She leans her head on his shoulder. 

He pats her knee. "Maybe they are."

-

"Virtch, you left the dishes in the sink _again_." Scott dramatically emphasises the last word, poking his head into her bedroom. 

"What?! No, I didn't!" She swears she washed up _and_ cleaned up the kitchen. She's painstaking about her cleanliness, thank you. 

"Nah, you didn't. Just messing with you." He grins his boyish grin at her and all she can do is roll her eyes. "Whatcha doin'?" 

"Writing," she swivels in her desk chair to look back at her laptop. She tilts her neck from side to side until it gives her the _crick_ she wants. She massages the side of her head with her fingers as if she can will away the beginning of a headache. 

"Paper?" 

"No, I did like, 3 hours on that. Plus I was answering emails from the kids in the class I TA for, and I really should probably do some lesson planning too but my brain felt like it was gonna explode.” She chuckles, “I was gonna work on a fic to take a break but—" she gestures half-heartedly at her screen "—I'm feeling kinda stuck."

"What's happening in it?" Scott's bending down to look at her laptop screen, a hand at the back of her chair. 

"Smut," she laughs weakly, slouching back against her seat, "my weakness."

"Hey, I'm meant to be helping you with that. It shouldn't be a weakness."

"It's not you, it's me, Scott."

"Nah, T, we're a team. We either succeed or fail together." He rubs the back of her neck before declaring, "Oh! I've got an idea."

He looks down at her, shooting her a bright grin. Then he frowns in thought. "Wait, is that my shirt?" 

She looks down at herself and she blushes. It is. It's the same shirt that she stole from him the first night they agreed on Scott being her fanfic muse, for lack of a better term. She just never found the time to give it back. 

(Or the heart. It's really comfy to sleep in, okay?)

"Uh, yes? Sorry. I can give it back?" 

"No, it's okay. Looks good on you." He winks. "Now about my idea…can you get up?" 

"What? Why?" She's flummoxed but does so anyway, tugging the hem of her— _his_ shirt down. Not that it matters though, right? He’s seen everything underneath. His gaze drops down to her exposed legs and her cheeks heat, goosebumps erupting all over her skin. She doesn’t get tired of being looked at like this by him.

He drops himself down unceremoniously on her desk chair, patting his lap. “Come sit.”

She raises an eyebrow but follows his instruction anyway. She sits closer to the edge of his knees but he wraps an arm around her waist and tugs her back until her back’s flush against his chest. She swallows.

“See, T,” his voice a rumble in her ear and it’d be soothing if it weren’t so attractive. And a turn-on. His hands slowly moving up and down the outsides of her legs aren’t helping either. “I think what you need is motivation.”

“Motivation?”

“Yeah,” his palms move to her inner thighs, gliding teasingly up to her centre but missing it at the last moment. “A reward.” He starts brushing his lips against her neck. These barely-there touches that could be almost-kisses.

His other hand is firmly against her stomach but shifts slightly up until he can brush her nipple with his thumb. The unexpected touch sends a bolt of arousal straight to her pussy, and she arches against him, her legs falling apart. “So, how about this: you finish this scene and I give you an orgasm?” She turns just in time to see him grin, this boyish one that’s a complete contradiction to his words. And his hand that’s just made its way between her legs, dragging very decisively over her panties. She clutches his forearm, nails digging in what she’s certain will be deep half-moons. “What do you think?”

She makes some unintelligible sound in return. “I—I have to finish the scene?”

“Kinda the point, T.” He chuckles against her neck. “C’mon. Get typing.”

She brings her hands over her keyboard, which suddenly feel a lot heavier. All she can think of are the things she wants Scott to do to her body, all the things she knows he can make her feel. It’s supposed to be useful given what she needs to write but it’s more distracting than anything.

But. She can do this. Once she’s got a couple words down, it’s easier to find the next few and the next few. Scott _may_ have a point, she’ll concede. The scene’s easier to write with a reward. Or maybe she’s just done overthinking every little thing because she wants that reward.

This constant thrum of anticipation and want and ache that Scott’s spun her into helps her get into her characters’ mindsets—and _okay_ , maybe Scott’s at-first ridiculous suggestion is more useful than what she first thought.

She’s just gotten into the flow of writing when Scott breaks her focus by brushing his thumb against her nipple again. Over and over, the texture of the fabric providing her with delicious friction.

“Scott,” she whimpers. She stops typing, her nails digging into her palm.

“Uh-uh, you gotta keep writing.” He doesn’t stop though, this time adding a littering of kisses on her neck. She knows he knows how much she loves attention showered on that part of her body.

She’s still got a ways to go before finishing this particular part of the fic. And Scott’s intent on not making it any easier. 

Once she’s made further progress, Scott decides that he’s gonna make it harder for her, slipping his fingers into her panties and stroking up and down her folds. She can’t help her moan, accidentally smashing the keyboard so that a string of random letters appear on the screen.

“Scott, please,” she says, moving her hips against his hand. She realises how hard he is against her ass and she grinds against him. If he’s not making this easy for her, she’s sure as hell not making it any easier for him.

“Gotta finish writing, Tess.” His breathing’s laboured so she knows he’s affected by this as much as she is.

She widens her legs and presses harder against his hand, trying to angle her hips better but he doesn’t let her. She groans in frustration. His message is clear: he’s not satisfying her until she’s satisfied her end of the bargain.

It’s so much harder (every single pun intended) but she finds it in herself to persist with writing the scene. Does it make sense? Is it grammatically correct? Probably not at this point, but she doesn’t care. 

He sweeps at the hood of her clit just as he bites at the skin of neck, pinching her nipple. She’s desperate.

She types one of her characters saying, _Please, touch me harder—_

Scott’s hands pause. He must have read what she’s written. She holds her breath in anticipation.

He dips his fingers inside her, his whole hand firm against her core. Her eyes flutter closed.

“Is that what you wanted, T?”

She hums in response, fighting the urge to fall back against him. She opens her eyes again, breathing heavily. _Please—just, more—_

She feels his smirk against her neck but he complies with her request.

Maybe this is the way that she should be writing all her smut scenes. 

She’s barely aware of the high pitched noises she’s making at the back of her throat as Scott coaxes her closer and closer to the edge. He can’t fuck her deep with his fingers from this position, but she tilts her hips up to take him in as much as she can. His other hand alternates between her breasts, pinching and rolling her nipples the way he’s learned she likes.

And all the while he’s murmuring in her ear, whispers of how good she feels, how hard she’s making him, how he loves watching her come around him.

 _Please, let me come—_ she types, shaking, tense from trying to keep her orgasm at bay.

“Please,” she keens as Scott rubs tight circles on her sensitive bud, exactly where she needs it.

“Come, T. Come for me. Let go.” She surrenders to the fire at his words, arching against him as she rides the wave out against his hand, falling back against him.

As satisfying as her climax was (she’s come to expect nothing less from Scott), something begins to coil tight in her stomach watching him lick his fingers that have just been inside her. That, plus his dick that’s still quite prominently hard against her ass.

She shifts her position, getting up to turn around, settles back in his lap and kisses him.

“Tess—” He moans and she captures his sounds.

“Scott, please,” she says between kisses, “I need you inside me.” She punctuates her words with a deliberate roll of her hips.

“Can—we move—this to your bed?” He pants and she nods emphatically. He pulls her closer and she wraps her legs around him as he stands up, his hands automatically supporting her. 

He sets her down on her bed as gently as he always does. She doesn’t waste time pulling at his clothes, tugging his shirt up and his sweatpants and boxers down. He shucks his clothes off the rest of the way. She sits up to take his shirt off of her when he stops her.

“May I?” How can someone’s eyes be both intense and gentle at once?

All she can do is nod.

He takes off her shirt slowly, lets his palms graze every part of her skin that’s exposed bit by bit, strip by strip. She can’t breathe by the time he’s done.

Her bedroom light’s on and in the artificial light he can see every part of her. If it was any other boy, she’d want to cover herself up, tuck the pieces of herself into every tight corner to hide, but—it’s Scott.

“You’re so beautiful, T.”

Her first instinct is to brush it off, like she’s done before but she chooses not to. Maybe, she can believe it.

Scott smiles when she doesn’t deflect the compliment. “Lay back for me.”

He hovers over her once she’s done as she’s asked, this smile of his that makes her feel something she still can’t name, kisses her like he’s got all the time in the world, and shuffles down until he’s mouthing and licking her over her underwear.

“Scott,” she tugs on his hair, “I don’t—” her words dissolve on a mewl, “I want you inside me now, mmm, please.”

He hesitates, but acquiesces. She reaches into her bedside drawer, takes a condom, tears it open and rolls it on him in one smooth move. She hides her proud smile in a kiss on his collarbone. 

He pushes into her slowly, little by little, but she gets impatient and grabs onto his ass to take him in the rest of the way.

“So impatient,” he teases and she rolls her eyes.

“You were taking too long.” She wraps her legs around him, eyes fluttering closed as he tucks a hand underneath her to thrust into her the way he’s learned she likes.

She clenches around him as he’s pulling out of her and his broken moan is the moment of weakness she needs to flip them over so she’s on top. 

“Tessa,” he breathes, and she has to close her eyes because she can’t bear the way he’s looking at her. Like there’s too many parts of her he’s seen. And he adores every single one.

Because he doesn’t. Or—he can’t, he shouldn’t.

She plants a hand on his sternum (on his heart) to get the leverage to rock down on him. She combs her sweaty hair back with the other, letting it drag down her shoulder and chest to tease herself.

Scott’s rhythm in how he’s been thrusting up at her stutters, holding harder onto her hips. “Fuck, T—”

She experiments by circling her hips and she discovers that they both like that too. She bends forward so she can grind better against him, finds his lips with hers as his hands move her back and forth.

“Tess,” he grits through his teeth, “I’m close. Are you—” he doesn’t finish as he tenses to keep his breathing in check.

She is, it wouldn’t take much. Scott’s the most generous lover, always wants to make sure his partner comes before him. But she wants to return that to him.

So she finds his sensitive spot on his collarbone, drags her nails down the side of his abs and clenches around him. _Come for me, Scott_ , she thinks. _For me._

He holds onto her back tight as he surrenders and shudders beneath her. It doesn’t take long for her to follow him after, burying her face in his neck as she comes apart around him.

She comes back to earth with him stroking her hair in tandem with her spine. These long, languid soothing touches that feel like they’re pulling at something from within her.

“Hey there,” he says once she’s found the strength to look up at him, with this stupid smile she wants to kiss so she does. Because she can.

And she doesn’t know how long she’ll be able to.

–

“Scott. The neighbours. Can. Hear. Us.” She pushes their door closed with her back and falls against it, her hand pressed against her chest.

“What do you mean?”

“They can hear us!” she whisper-shouts pointing an accusatory finger at him, stalking towards where he’s trying not to laugh. “They can hear _us_ when we _sex_ , Scott!” He stops trying not to laugh. “This isn’t funny!”

He catches her index finger and pulls her in close to kiss her nose. She tries to resist at first but gives in to him. “Who said?”

“Mrs Porter, Scott! That’s why this isn’t funny.” Mrs Porter is their lovely eighty-year-old neighbour who most definitely should not be subjected to their sex noises. “I bumped into her as I was coming in. She said she was glad ‘that boy is treating you right’.” She makes air quotes to emphasise her point. “She patted me on the cheek and said it kept her cat Mittens up for a while one night but she said ‘the boy must do a phenomenal job’ and that it brings back memories of how much she and her late husband loved each other and then she shuffled away on her walker and oh god, this is so embarrassing!” she whines.

Scott envelops her in a hug and he’s definitely still laughing at her. She hits his chest with her closed fists weakly. 

“At least it’s just Mrs Porter,” he tries to point out. “The apartment on the other side of ours is still vacant.”

It doesn’t dissuade her much. She doesn’t think she can ever make eye contact with Mrs Porter again.

“Also,” his teasing lilt makes her look up at him, “I hadn’t realised ‘sex’ was a verb.”

“Shut up, it is now.”

He’s still chuckling as he follows her as she marches into the kitchen, plopping herself down on one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter, kicking off her shoes once she’s seated. The soles of her feet are killing her.

She perks up at the sight in front of her though, taking in the ingredients he’s got laid out that she can never remember the specific names of but she knows tastes _good_ all together. “Szechuan chicken stir-fry?” she twists to look at him.

“Mm-hmm,” he nods, grinning.

“My favourite?” Her previous embarrassment is nearly forgotten.

“Yeah, I know.”

She sighs happily, resting her chin on her hands as she watches him. She enjoys watching him move in the kitchen, all unconscious and effortless grace that she’d be envious of if she wasn’t the one being fed, a kitchen towel draped on his shoulder, singing something a little off-key.

He bends over to reach for one of the pans they store in a lower cupboard (and sue her if she appreciates the view that that affords her), grabs a spatula and turns around with the flourish of a Broadway dancer.

He bangs the spatula against the pan like a wayward child in music class. “Are you ready, T?”

If she ever looks back on it, it would seem ridiculous that it happens here with him banging kitchen utensils together, that it happens like the minute hand of a clock shifting to twelve, a movement that’s all quiet inevitability. Something clicking into place, something that’s fated to happen, but is so everyday that it long stopped being prominent, a background hum in your mind like your favourite song.

“Don’t make too much noise, the neighbours might complain,” is what she says out loud, a weak joke that still has him bending over backwards, a loud laugh escaping him.

 _I’m in love with you_ , is what she thinks in her head.

It’s always been a scary thought whenever she’s had it before, the sense that she’s falling only to break, like vases or glasses or china plates.

But she thinks of rain falling on lakes and snowflakes falling on outstretched palms and she thinks that maybe, not all falling things need to break. 

She’s never felt safer than when she’s with Scott, and not in a way that makes her feel caged or coddled. No, he makes her feel like she can fly, but there’s someone to share everything with, a touchstone to return to.

The words are dancing on the tip of her tongue and it feels like something that could be so easy to say. _Scott, I’m in love with you._

But she can’t.

Because she’s scared. She’s scared in the most cliché way, the question echoing repeatedly like an incessant knock on the door: _What if he doesn’t feel the same way?_

When she reads something, it’s always easy to tell who’s gonna fall in love. It’s easy to see who’ll look at each other and sigh, _Oh, it’s you. It’s always been you. How could I have thought otherwise?_

But she might not be that. She might not be that person in Scott’s narrative and the thought makes her chest ache the way truthful things tend to do.

Scott says her name softly like a question because she must’ve spaced out for the past couple of minutes. And her eyes meet his and a startling thought occurs to her: of course she might not be that person in Scott’s narrative but there’s also the possibility that she _could_ be. All she has to do is be brave and tell him what she’s just realised.

He might not feel the same way, romantically. He might never feel the same way, and there’s also the possibility that this would ruin whatever they have between them—but she trusts him. She trusts him. She trusts him that even if she tramples their friendship to pieces with all this love that’s brimming inside of her, with time, they could heal and rebuild it.

It’d hurt like a goddamn freight train, for sure, but not as much as totally losing him from her life.

And if she loses him even after all that, well...this is the one thing she’d take from him: that he’s always made her feel like she was worth caring for. That, even if it’s not from him, she’s learned to believe that she’s someone worth loving.

-

She had a plan. She actually had a plan. She was scared out of her wits but—she had a plan.

And Scott- _I-watch-rom-coms-to-unwind-on-the-weekend-_ Moir blows the plan to smithereens.

She'd just fallen asleep beside him on his bed, glow-in-the-dark stars shimmering on his ceiling, when she heard the bed creak and felt the bed dip. She half-wakes because of it and she can almost picture how he's propped up on one elbow, the sheets pooling below his chest. 

He runs his fingers through her hair, a soothing touch that's almost enough to send her right back to sleep. Except he starts talking. 

"There's something I've wanted to tell you for a while," it's the barest murmur and she has to focus to hear everything he's saying, "but I haven't found the guts to tell you." He takes a deep breath, "T, I'm in love with you."

Is this what a heart attack feels like? 

"And like a coward, I'm telling you while you're asleep," he laughs to himself, notes of self-deprecation threaded through each word, "but I mean it. Every single word. I love—I love...I love you. How does that guy in that movie you love say it? … Ah, ‘you have bewitched me body and soul’. I’m sorry I’m resorting to stealing other people’s lines but I don’t have your talent with words.” 

He sighs, and she swears she can hear his smile in that single sound. The one where if she lets herself think for too long, makes her start to think that it’s hers. 

And maybe, it is. 

“I love how it has to take me saying your name more than one time to get your attention when you’re too focused on writing. I don’t mind; I love saying it. I love that my mom loves you even though she’s never met you properly. Apparently, my facetime calls with her where you drop by have her convinced you’re the daughter she’s never had. I love that you think cooking is a war to be conquered, and I love that I get to share your victories in the kitchen with you. I love the way some of your hair always escapes your messy buns—that’s the right hair term, right?—and how I have to stop myself from winding the strands around my fingers. I love that I still can’t name the exact shade of green your eyes are. I love your freckles and how they scatter on your skin like stars. Okay, Tess, I kinda wish you’re awake right now because that was almost poetic and I bet you’d be proud of me. I love who I am around you, that you see the truth of me but you’re still here anyway. I just...love you. I promise to tell you soon when you’re actually gonna hear it. And...I promise that it’s gonna be okay if you don’t feel the same way. It’d...hurt, I know, but I never want to lose you. Loving you is more than enough, Virtch.”

She doesn’t know how she stays still through it all, when she’s sure she stopped breathing somewhere around his second sentence. And she probably should’ve woken up and told him ‘I love you, too’ but his words, his honest, beautiful words, left her in shock and unable to say anything.

And she’s somewhat thankful for it because she got to revel in all he had to say. She’s written her fair share of ‘I love you’ declarations—it’s one of her favourite parts to write—but to listen to one just for her?

To listen to one from _Scott_ just for her?

She wishes there was some way for her to record each word because memories are fickle and don’t last forever.

Or maybe, this one will, because his words feel like they’ve fallen on and are now etched onto her bare skin.

All Scott does next is press the lightest kiss, half on her lips, traces the side of her face close to her hair for another perfect, aching moment, wraps an arm around her waist to tuck her close to him, and falls asleep.

She’ll tell him, soon.

–

She couldn’t meet his eyes the morning after. Well, she could. But not for long, unless she wanted to end up blurting out the words. She doubts he’d mind but she’d like to stick to her planned big rom-com worthy gesture if she can. 

She can sense that she’s gotten Scott a little worried with her and that’s the last thing she wants. Instead of speaking those three little words, she squeezes his hand as she passes him her dishes, makes some obscure reference to one of those shows he likes to binge on netflix but she never fully understood, which makes him snap his head towards her with a surprised grin, kisses him as she’s leaving for work.

They’d never really done that before, kiss without it being a prelude to something, a kiss that was just a kiss, something pure and enough on its own.

She wishes she was an artist for a moment, if only to capture in charcoal or watercolour or pencil the way he’d looked at her after.

 _I love you_ , she thinks.

She smiles secretly to herself as she shuts their door closed behind her. She’ll be able to say the words out loud, soon.

–

The thing is that she’s always had some level of apprehension whenever she hits the ‘post’ button to publish a new fic. How could she not? Whether consciously or not, she puts pieces of herself in her writing that she often doesn’t notice until she’s rereading old pieces of writing months later.

Any comments on her writing are comments about her to a certain extent, whether kind or unkind, positive or constructive or negative.

Even so, she hasn’t been as nervous about posting as she has about this one.

> **_i can make you see stars_ **
> 
> _by vickyvice for virtuenototherwise_
> 
> _all the times Christian made Satine see stars, both literally and figuratively._

She thinks of Scott’s determination to read her fics almost as soon as they’re published—honestly, she doesn’t know how he does it, he does have a job and from what she hears he’s one of the most beloved coaches there—and wonders how he’ll react.

There wasn’t anything subtle about the fic. It’s about him, and him with her, the stars she sees behind her closed eyelids as his body knows hers, the stars on his ceiling, the stars she wishes on.

Plus, she’d tried to write his speech to her when he thought she was asleep almost verbatim. If that doesn’t hit him over the head who the fic is about, she’ll have to hit him harder when she gets home.

Then she’ll kiss him, for as long as he’ll let her.

–

There’s no texts on her phone from him. She’ll get them from him about her writing, strings of exclamation points or a ‘TESSA WHAT THE FUCK’ and she’ll grin with an extra spring in her step because she’s done her job as a writer.

For a devastating moment she has the nightmare-inducing thought that she’s just dreamed up Scott telling her all those wonderful things, that she’s now written a fic that is by all accounts a love letter to him and she’ll go home to find him saying, sorry, he loves her, but not in that way.

(She’ll definitely forever cry to that Sam Smith song now.)

But no. She’s made the decision to be brave and she’s following through with this momentum. She marches up the stairs and down the hallway, walking past Mrs Porter’s door with only the faintest of embarrassed flushes.

She puts her key in and turns it, hands shaking and heart pounding, turns it in the lock and opens the door.

And sees him.

See, the idea of someone being home is quite possibly one of the most cliché lines in writing. _Not_ that she can talk because she knows she’s used it a lot in her own pieces, but she’s never understood it fully until now.

She’s come home to Scott countless times over the time they’ve been roommates. But now, knowing what she knows, knowing what her heart feels for him, it’s that _oh_ moment in all the fics she’s read, italicised and all.

 _Oh._

This is what it feels like to come home, when home isn’t just a space, or a place, but a person.

“Tessa.” His hair’s all mussed and her fingers itch to run themselves through it. He’s looking at her like he can’t quite believe that she’s there in front of him.

She should probably say ‘hi’ or ‘hello’, or say his name as well so that there’s a poetic parallel but the first thing she blurts is, “Did you read it?”

She doesn’t even need to clarify. “Yeah,” he nods dumbly, “yeah, I did. Tessa—” He stands frozen like he doesn’t know what to do and she wonders if the most painful part of having your heart broken is the part before it happens—when you know it’s coming but it hasn’t yet and you grab onto any semblance of the Before to hold onto when everything’s broken around you.

He crosses the distance between them and suddenly he’s cupping her face. If she was writing this in a fic she’d say something sappy about how he’s got the whole universe in his hands but this isn’t her writing and she doesn’t know what she’s thinking and the only thought in her head is—actually there aren’t any thoughts in her head with him this close.

“You really heard everything I said that night?”

“Yeah,” she nods, and the movement almost brushes her lips against his.

“I love you.” He blurts it out like he can’t wait any longer. Their foreheads touch and he’s chuckling as he says, “But you already know that, right?”

“I was wondering whether I’d just dreamed it for a while,” she laughs along with him. “I should’ve probably said something but you took me by surprise. And I already had my big gesture planned,” she bumps her nose against his impishly. “I kinda wanted to follow it through?”

“You gave me a heart attack though, once I recognised some of the words. I thought I was this,” he holds up his thumb and forefinger brought close together, “close to being kicked out.”

She twists one of her hands into the fabric of his shirt, “No, I couldn’t. Because,” she peeks up at him, “I love you, too.”

“T, I—” he’s smiling so wide and he dips his head to kiss her, these soft, barely-there kisses so reminiscent of the first time but this time they aren’t meant to tease; rather, they’re meant to indulge. There’s something wonderful about kisses that make you feel like you’ve got all the time in the world.

There’s something incredible about losing track of time and space as you lose yourself to another person, that you barely notice stumbling to the closest bedroom (his), taking each other’s clothes off in the same way you’ve peeled all the layers between you that cover you from the world, until you’re skin to skin, chest to chest, heart to heart and breathing the same air.

There’s something sublime about having done this before and yet feeling like it’s still all new, like a beloved chapter that you’ve read over and over again, but then one day you realise there’s a metaphor there that you hadn’t noticed before. It’s endings and beginnings cycling through each other; destruction and rebirth like a phoenix from the flames.

Scott’s learned her body and she’s learned his. He knows where and how his hands fit against her, knows exactly how to make her moan and cry out his name. And she, in turn, knows how to touch him and tease him with both hands and words, making him groan and whimper, her name uttered in broken keens.

When he holds her as close as he can, her legs parted to cradle him, limbs wrapped around him, fingers tangled in his hair, he says her name in the softest utterance and she nods, nudging him closer as he presses against her entrance, pushing in slowly. He catches her gasps, her moans at how _right_ he feels seated inside her.

She doesn’t know how long it takes, this time. It could be an eon, an eternity or just a moment. All that matters is him with her and the ‘I love you’s’ they say to each other over and over. She doesn’t think the repetition takes away the meaning of those three words. How many times have they said them anyway through the things they’ve done for each other? The gestures, big and small, that he’s done for her that she hadn’t understood actually meant ‘I love you’ or the ones she’s done for him that she hadn’t realised meant the same thing.

“Tess,” he clenches his jaw. “Fuck, _babe_ , I’m close.” 

She whispers her fingers along his jaw as she scores a line down his back. “Me too,” she gasps as he hitches one of her legs higher on his back, mouthing and sucking at her neck.

He finds her eyes the moment before they fall off the precipice together. Here, as she falls into an abyss of their doing, he proves to her that falling things don’t need to break; that she doesn’t need to break when he’s holding her.

–

They’re lying on his bed with her splayed across his chest and she realises that the way he’s looking at her now—like she’s beautiful, someone to be adored and worshipped—is the way he’s looked at her for a long time. She just hadn’t let herself see it. She ducks her head against his chest, blushing, presses a kiss over his sternum. Over his heart. He’s told her it’s hers, and she believes him.

“Hey, Scott?”

“Hmmm?” He’s got one hand softly running through her hair, the other warm on her back and she’d never let herself sink into the utter bliss of his touch before. Funny how love magnifies even the smallest of things, makes them even more exquisite than what one could imagine.

“I never really got to ask, why’d you put glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling?”

His eyes widen. “Oh. That.” He blushes. “I was wondering if you’d ever ask. And what answer I could give you that wouldn’t leave me homeless.”

Her curiosity is piqued now. “Oh? See, now you’ve gotta tell me.” She pokes his side with each word.

He sighs but it’s more fond than anything. “Uh, when you look at them, tell me, what do you see?”

“Like constellations?” she frowns as she twists her body to look at the ceiling. “Gotta admit, Scott, I don’t really know any of them.”

“Just humour me and look.”

She stares at the ceiling, connects stars in random shapes or letters. There’s literally a million possibilities. “Won’t you give me a clue?”

He covers his face with one hand. “I’m gonna be really embarrassed by the truth.”

She really wants to know. “So, over there,” she points towards the right side, “there’s like a couple of clusters of three? Then there’s a few lines that sweep up and across,” she follows the line with her hand. “Oh! And that could be a letter ‘S’.” She squints as she traces the shape with her index finger.”

He groans and she’s sure she’s on the right track. “Come on, Moir. Just tell me.”

“Promise you won’t kick me out?” His words are muffled by his hand.

“Well…” she pauses just to tease him.

“Tessaaa,” he whines and she kisses his pout away.

“I can’t kick you out. I need to be able to pay the rent and the bills. Plus, I’m kind of in love with you, so y’know, it’s more convenient for you to stay.”

“Just kind of?” He runs his thumbs across her cheekbone and across her bottom lip.

She shakes her head, grabs his hands and presses them over her heart. “I love you completely, utterly and absolutely.” She kisses his hands like she can press her words into his skin.

The way he’s looking at her makes her feel so adored and she hopes the way she feels about him is written on her face too, as plain as day. “I love you, Tessa. So much.”

“ _Now_ , will you tell me what the stars are for? All I remember is that you said they remind you of home.”

“Okay, okay,” he pulls her in close and she wants to moan in bliss because he’s so warm. His hands cup her face, his thumbs rubbing back and forth. “Clusters of three,” he whispers, his right thumb pressing gently in spots all over her cheek. “Sweeping up and across,” his index finger sweeps across the bridge of her nose. “And I suppose that could be an ‘S’?” he tilts his head this way and that, “but that could just be my subconscious being all possessive.”

She’s stopped breathing the moment she’d realised what the stars mirrored: the freckles on her skin.

Scott takes one look at her expression and groans again. “I told you it’s embarrassing.” He sits up, taking her with him. “I’m so sorry, T. I can take them down. I promise—”

“You said it reminded you of home,” she interrupts him, although she says it incredibly softly. “But you have _me_ on your ceiling.” 

“Well, you’re my home,” he confesses, “It’s you, Tess. You’re the one I want to come home to.”

How does she begin to describe this bursting, brimming feeling inside of her? She’s spent hours in writing trying to capture with the right words emotions like this, writing and rewriting in search of that perfect simile or metaphor, but she can’t find the words now.

“You’re the one I want to come home to, too,” she says. She doesn’t need to find any other words when the words he’s just uttered capture exactly how much she loves him.

She kisses him, because she can, and she knows she’ll be able to for as long as she wants. He rolls them over and she lets him, loving the softness of his hair and the weight of his body and the love in his eyes. She loves that she can look at him and see exhilarating possibilities.

She loves that they’ve still got the rest of their story to write, together.


End file.
